


Whose Bitter Tears

by misura



Category: The Shadow of the Tower
Genre: Episode: The Crowning of Apes, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-05 04:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16803856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: Lincoln receives an unexpected visitor in Dublin.





	Whose Bitter Tears

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisbluespirit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisbluespirit/gifts).



"You would prefer a king incapable of so much as signing his own name over me? I am disappointed."

 _How -_ Lincoln managed a chuckle. _A dream. Good God, John. Get it together, will you? So the brat has been crowned and pronounced rex, what of it?_

"Does my disappointment amuse you?" Henry asked. He looked real enough to touch. His eyes - but of course such was the nature of dreams.

Lincoln forced himself to look away - not down, but sideways.

"Well?" Henry seated himself. "Have you no words for your king? An apology, perhaps?"

"I have nothing to apologize for," Lincoln said. He sounded unconvincing, even to himself, and yet he felt very strongly that he had spoken truth. "I am the Yorkist heir. I deserve - "

"You deserve whatever your king chooses to give you," said Henry. "As do all my subjects. Have you no trust? Did we not make a pact, to trust one another? To join in friendship?"

"Friendship!" Lincoln remembered the endless hours of oath-taking, of dull, hard work, for little reward.

Henry gestured. "Sit. Will you pour us some wine?"

"There is no - " Lincoln started to say, when he saw that there was. Two cups, even. "King's butler. Is that what you would have me be?"

"If you will not pour, I would think you ill-suited for the job," Henry said. "Shall I pour, then? Would it please you to believe yourself king in so small a matter, for so short a time as it will take me to fill your cup? My poor John."

"Do not dare pity me." Lincoln sat, even so, watching dully as Henry poured the wine, sweet and red.

"I pity all men who would rise against me." Henry held out the cup. Their fingers touched, briefly, as Lincoln accepted. "There's little profit in such an undertaking, and less chance of victory. Less glory, even, than in the position of king's butler."

Lincoln sipped and grimaced. "I thought you considered the position an honorable one."

"Honorable, but not glorious," Henry said. "Valued, but not richly rewarded in coin."

"What else is there, to feed a man's ambition?" Lincoln shook his head. He had felt - _something_ , staying up late, to sit by as Henry worked, even after the servants had gone to bed, to rest.

He had sat, watching Henry Tudor work, and he had thought to himself - _what? That I might yet gain power and influence in this manner? Through silent service and obedience?_

"You had your king's trust, sir, and you chose to squander it," Henry said.

"If this is a dream, it is a pointless one," said Lincoln.

"I dreamt of being king, once." Henry stared into his wine cup. "It was my mother's dream before me. My uncle Jasper's. And then mine, and I took that dream and made it reality. What do you dream, my lord of Lincoln?"

"As should be apparent, I dream of Henry Tudor sitting in my rooms, drinking wine."

Henry smiled. "As modest as that?"

"I am a modest man, your Majesty," Lincoln said.

"You are a rebel and a traitor," Henry corrected. "A harsh truth, and a bitter one, but a truth nonetheless."

Lincoln slammed down his cup on the table. "I need not justify my actions to some phantom, some figment of my imagination."

"If the Earl of Warwick can be both in Dublin and the Tower, cannot Henry the King likewise be in two places at once?" Henry gently put down his own cup.

"You know as well as I do that boy has as little right to style himself King as - "

"As do you?"

Lincoln realized that he very badly wanted to lose his temper. And yet - _it is only because you have served him, served under him,_ he told himself. _A force of habit, invoked by the wine, the memories. You'll get over it._

 _You'd better,_ another part of him replied. _That bridge is well and truly burnt, John. No way back now, not for you. You fail, and he may spare your life, for all the good it'll do you, but you cannot hope for more than that. No more council meetings, no more wine pouring._

"I think that I would like you to go now," Lincoln said. "Whatever you are, true or false."

"True, always, and your king, much as you might deny it." Henry rose. "Give up, John. Give over. Be happy, if you can, living in exile. I've done it myself; one grows accustomed. It can even be fun, to never know where one might find oneself from one week unto the next. An adventure."

"No," said Lincoln. "I do not believe I will."

"No," Henry echoed. "I do not believe you will either. Fare thee well, then, John. Not too well, one hopes. I pray that we will not meet again."

"Who knows?" Lincoln summoned a pale grin. "If I win, I might make you my butler. One has been told it is an honorable profession."

"And much valued, though not always by the one holding the position." 

Henry stepped forwards. Lincoln braced himself, determined to hold his ground, then realized that there was no need as Henry's hand gently brushed his cheek.

Then he was gone, and Lincoln was left alone, wondering until he forced himself to stop.

_The die has been cast, the ape has been crowned._

_Yes. It is all over now, but for the crying._


End file.
